Love of a Sister
by Moonlight Shining
Summary: Lithuania is gone and Russia's sanity is one more time teetering on the edge. What better remedy than a few bottles of vodka? What better comfort than the presence of a loving sister? All the ingredients for disaster are there and, rest assured, disaster is coming... Warning: non-explicit physical and sexual abuse


Russia buried his face in his hands, his entire frame shaking with the force of his dry sobs.

"They hate me." He said softly, then gave a cry of anguish. "They all hate me!"

He took to chanting it like a mantra after this, as if the repetition could somehow strip the words of their power and dull their truth. It never stopped hurting, however. If anything, it made things even worse, as each time felt like a new stab to his heart.

The tears finally came, seeping through the cracks between his fingers and dripping down his pale chin. A lone bead found its way into the small glass below with a barely audible plop – a mere dash of salt in an ocean of alcohol...

Actually, Russia wouldn't be surprised if vodka was all that could come out of him at this point... He stared in awe at the tiny ripples that shivered across the surface of the transparent liquid, before downing the glass in one gulp. It tasted disappointingly the same as usual. Although nothing would ever be the same in the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics.

He looked around, taking in the comforting, familiar surroundings of his bedroom – the same old rug lay on the floor, the snow was falling silently outside, the light crackling of the fire reached his ears. How could it be? How dared things look so normal, so... unchanged? How dare they mislead him in such a cruel manner? Nothing was the same. Nothing!

The half-full bottle of vodka crashed on the wall, scattering broken glass in every direction. Russia considered calling Latvia to clean up the mess, but he knew he would probably have to go fetch him personally and frighten him into submission before getting anything from him. The little backstabber. Since it was he who had started it all, Russia had expected the deceptively fragile-looking boy to be the first Baltic country to try and take the final plunge. But little Latvia was still there, and so was Estonia, whose singing contempt poisoned everything in the soviet household as efficiently as open rebellion. How long before they too ran away from him? Him, the monster, the oppressor of Central and Eastern Europe...

How naive of Russia to have imagined that sweet Lithuania of all people could love him and want to stay with him forever. How stupid of him to have believed in Gorbachev, to have believed he could win them over by granting them some more space and freedom. Perestroika. Glasnost. He was reaping the benefits of that fool's policies now and Lithuania, his Lithuania, was gone. Russia would not allow it. He couldn't live without his Lithuania and if the other nation wasn't able to understand how deeply he cared, then Russia would have to show him.

"Big brother?"

Russia let out a small groan as he looked up at the one Union republic he least wanted to see right now. Belarus stood on his threshold with her fist on her hip and a slightly sulky expression adorning her beautiful features.

"What's going on?" She asked not unkindly. "I heard a loud noise and I was wondering if you were alright."

Her pout turned into a full frown as she spotted the small puddle of vodka and the glass shards on the floor.

"You're drunk, brother." She noted sternly and, while he was heavily inebriated, Russia still felt one of the characteristic rushes of guilt only his sisters could conjure in him.

"Please, Belarus, go away..." He whispered, and turned his tear-soaked face away from her too piercing eyes. Why tonight? He knew perfectly well that it was too late – there was not a single chance in a thousand that Belarus would leave him alone. She never did.

And yet, Russia did not expect her to be so close when he peered around to investigate the silky rustle of fabric that indicated motion nearby. He recoiled imperceptibly at the unexpected feel of delicate fingertips brushing against his cheek and sighed in relief as they were soon removed.

"What's wrong?" Belarus asked and he would have deemed her voice soft, if such a thing was even possible for her. She was scowling at her own wet fingers, as if they somehow had any responsibility for the well of despair in which her darling brother was wallowing. Then, she brought her hand to her mouth and Russia grimaced when her tongue sneaked out to lap absentmindedly at the salty fluid. Why did she have to go and do something weird like that?

He swallowed painfully. His throat was sore from all his drinking, weeping and pitiful wailing and, when he talked, his normally sweet voice had an unusual hoarse quality to it.

"Lithuania is g-gone."

Before he knew it, Russia had begun to cry again and Belarus had bridged the short distance between them, her long blonde hair falling over him like a veil as she wrapped her arms around him without hesitation. It felt surprisingly good to bury his nose in the blue dress like a child as she kissed a few beige strands and murmured sweet nothings in his ear.

"I will always be there, brother, always by your side, I swear..."

Russia closed his eyes and relaxed into the soothing embrace for a while, listening to the sound of Belarus's voice rather than to what she was saying. He did not want to pay attention to her meaning, as he feared he might find it just a little too honeyed to be sisterly. However, Russia couldn't pretend he hadn't heard when Belarus's speech abruptly changed into a furious ramble.

"How dare that bastard leave brother? Does he have no idea how lucky he is? Unforgivable! Unforgivable! "

She let go of Russia and started pacing in front of him, shaking her fist at nothing in particular.

"There, there, Belarus, please don't talk of Lithuania that way."

He smiled gingerly, unsure of what he should be telling her next, but adamant that he did not want Belarus to go down this particular road. It made him incredibly nervous and, inexplicably, a bit angry. Now that she was no longer consoling him, the waves of ache were washing over his heart even stronger than they had before and Lithuania's defiant eyes were burning in the front of his mind. He could envision the predictable outcome of the conflict and picture the man's pretty face, contorted in pain and smeared with blood.

"Lithuania has been naughty, but I'm sure he'll come around eventually... with a little persuasion." He slurred and in his own voice, he could hear the ghost of his typical cheerfulness. Forced. Fake. Because, of course, Russia was sure of no such thing.

"Then again, maybe he won't..."

"Why not?" Belarus asked laconically.

"Maybe because he would sooner have all the bones in his body crushed rather than return home with me."

Russia was permeated by the absolute truth of his own statement. The whole world hated him and he wanted nothing more than to finally be able to hate back. Alas, to his utmost displeasure, his private spiral of dark thoughts was immediately intruded upon by his all too persistent sister.

"Lithuania is a fool, big brother. Please, let us not talk about him anymore and talk about us instead. I will always be there for you! I love you, so, please, please, marry me!"

For a terrible moment, the air around Russia seemingly turned to ice and he himself froze in shock. Fortunately, despite the vodka cursing through his veins – or was it thanks to it – his mind was a lot clearer than it usually was when he was subjected to her undesirable advances, and he quickly pulled himself together. Chuckling wholeheartedly, he extended a gloved hand and ruffled her hair affectionately.

Belarus didn't seem to know what to make of this surprising gesture, but she certainly looked none too appreciative. In fact, she appeared to be somewhat puzzled by this unforeseen turn of events... Yet whatever she might say didn't matter anymore, not now that Russia could see right through her nauseating act.

"Words, just empty words!" Russia lilted, more to himself than to her. "My lovely Belarus really isn't different from the rest of them, now, is she? Lithuania, too, promised he would be there for me…"

The accusation was enough to send Belarus into frenzy, but her pleading and vehement protestations of love fell on deaf ears when confronted with Russia's newfound lucidity. Before long, she was panting heavily, obviously desperate to get him to believe her lies.

"You're wrong! Please, let me show you, show you just how much I really love you, big brother! Let's become one!"

When Belarus reached out for his scarf, Russia caught both of her wrists and tugged hard. He pulled with such force, indeed, that she lost her balance and practically tumbled into his lap, ending up half-straddling one of his thigh. She gazed up at him and he lowered his face near enough to hers that he could actually feel the warmth of her shallow breathing on his lips.

Russia wasn't smiling anymore. All traces of mirth had left him and he couldn't remember what it was about the dreadful realization that he had been finding so humorous a few seconds ago. Actually, there were very few things in the world that infuriated Russia more than betrayal and dishonesty.

"Poland… Hungary… East Germany… Romania… Bulgaria… Czechoslovakia…" He recited aloud for her benefit, while counting in his head. "But not only them – also Latvia... Estonia... and... Lithuania. Nobody wants to become one with Russia, because they all hate me."

Belarus merely shrugged in response, apparently not caring much about her body being twisted in an uncomfortable position by her brother and her wrists being crushed by him in a vice-like grip.

"All of them are idiots!"

"… Or, maybe, you are the idiot, Belarus. You're worse than they are. Like them, you don't love me... You even hate me. Except they don't try to deceive me and you do."

Once more, the same hypocritical denial and deceitful declaration of love were put forward, and Russia realized that it had been too much to bear for a single day, after all, and that the extraordinary amount of patience he saved for his little sister was eventually failing him, definitely and utterly failing him.

"Please take it back." He breathed through clenched teeth, even though he was no longer sure he honestly wanted her to back down. Because, in the end, wouldn't it be much more fun for Russia to make Belarus swallow those words letter by letter, taste their sour flavor as she begged him for mercy? He was trembling in anticipation and, when she didn't renounce, he smiled eerily.

"I did warn you..."

As he grasped her chin roughly and brought their mouths together, Russia's heart was pounding wildly. Sadly, it was nothing like love that spurred him on. It was anything but that. How he could still manage to feel so deliriously happy was beyond him. All he ever wanted to do was howl in rage and hurt, and the mere idea of touching Belarus like that was enough to make him want to bang his head against a concrete wall.

She instantly melted in his arms and leaned into the kiss trustingly. Russia bit. Hard.

He was rewarded with Belarus's muffled yell and the metallic taste of blood on his tongue.

"Wh-what are you doing, brother?"

She sounded panicked and he reveled in the lovely sight of the scarlet rivulet that trickled from her split lip down to her chin.

"You don't know anything about what if feels like to be one with Russia, right? Well, then, let me show you, love."

* * *

Russia awoke to a whirlwind of sensations that had him confusedly wondering how a single person was supposed to endure so many bothersome feelings all at once. Despite his long experience with alcohol as makeshift painkiller, he didn't think he would ever get used to the unavoidable hangovers…

The pleasant warmth of a body nestled against his own was all the more welcome since cold air was insistently nipping at his bare skin and making him shiver from head to toe. Russia fumbled blindly for the covers, which conveniently happened to be bunched up near his right arm, and pulled them over the both of them.

He was so thirsty that his mouth was drier than parchment, but the dull throbbing in his head and faint sickness in his stomach effectively dissuaded him from attempting to get up for the time being. In a half-doze, he muttered his lover's name for comfort and shifted to nuzzle the soft brown hair tickling his shoulder, breathing in the scent of his Lithuania. Except that the person lying by his side smelled nothing like Lithuania.

Russia's eyes snapped open and what he saw all but drew a scream of horror from him.

"B-B-B-Belarus!" He stammered, while frantically scrambling away from the horrifyingly naked form of his sleeping sister. What on earth had happened here? What had she done to him? And why couldn't he remember anything about last night? Vodka, he recalled only vodka, too much vodka, and tears, lots of them, because – now he remembered – Lithuania had chosen yesterday to claim to the world his secession from the USSR.

With a strangled sob, he yanked a duvet back to himself, desperate to conceal his own shameful nudity from her nonexistent stare, but his clumsy movement dragged the rest of the covers along, partially unveiling Belarus's body.

Russia immediately made to cover his eyes with both hands, but he wasn't fast enough to avoid spotting the dark bruises which marred the white skin of her hip. He frowned as his gaze travelled of its own accord over the horrendous sight that offered itself to him. Was this… dried blood on her legs? And that stain couldn't possibly be…?

Raising the blanket mechanically, he stole a glance at himself, only to discover more blood there. His stomach churned and he started trembling uncontrollably, harder than any gust of chilly Siberian wind could ever have made him. It was impossible. There had to be some kind of misunderstanding. For Russia to have done such a horrible thing, and to his own sister too, his precious, his beloved little sister, the girl for the sake of whom he tolerated the intolerable, just so that the three Slavic siblings would always remain close and united, like they were meant to be.

"I didn't do it, Belarus." He whimpered pathetically, deliberately avoiding looking at her. "It wasn't me. I could never hurt you, you know that! You know that I would never…"

Soon his words trailed off into guilty silence. Denying his crime was of no use, because deep down Russia knew the implacable truth – he knew that he had unscrupulously taken advantage of her weakness to vent out his frustration and he knew just what his actions made him. He curled on his side and clutched his head tightly, but he could not chase the haunting images that flashed behind his shut eyelids, unrestrained, vivid, and much too explicit to be a product of his imagination.

The irrepressible urge to run away overcame him and he practically sprang up, grabbing a few discarded clothes from the floor and slipping them on with uncertain gestures. Russia was already halfway to the door, when he suddenly came to a standstill and burst into fresh tears – he could not do it. There was no way he could leave her. Not like that, not after…

He turned around and walked back to the nearest side of the bed, then crawled toward Belarus and kneeled beside her, gathering the fragile, abused frame in his arms. He cradled her against his chest like one would a baby, like he remembered Ukraine doing when Belarus was but a small child, when he himself was just a little boy and he had yet to live through any of the atrocities that had become part of Russian history.

As Russia had propped her up, Belarus's hair had spilled down her back, revealing ten angry crescent marks which were indented in the flesh of her shoulders as if someone had dug their nails hard enough to draw blood. Worst of all, however, were the reddish tell-tale handprints on her throat.

"Please forgive me."

Without thinking, Russia traced the open gash on her lower lip with his thumb. Even in her sleep, Belarus seemed to feel the pain as she jolted against him feebly.

"I'm sorry." He apologized pointlessly and rested his chin on top of her head protectively. Such bitter irony when he was really the one from whom she would have needed protection.

A few seconds – or maybe hours – passed and Belarus showed no signs of awakening. Russia remained as motionless as a statue, her weight growing progressively heavy on his tired arms, and even though he had failed to stop weeping, at least he managed to do so inaudibly.

Then, Russia was penetrated with a new unbearable awareness– any minute now, Belarus was going to wake up and once she had, she would quite naturally act on the lesson he had taught her so ruthlessly last night.

"Please, don't leave me!" He cried out, startling her awake.

Belarus only moaned and rolled over and away from him.

"I beg of you. Please, don't leave me." Russia repeated and took both of her smaller hands in his, squeezing them gently. As if anything he might say could ever redeem him… As if he even had a right to ask for her forgiveness… He knew that her initial confusion wouldn't last and that he had better brace himself for the inevitable.

But he still wasn't prepared at all for Belarus's actual reaction.

"I won't." She mumbled against all expectations, stretching and yawning. "I won't leave you, so there's no need to shout…"

Russia anxiously met her gaze as she peered up at him, rubbing at her eyes and blinking furiously. Then, Belarus tilted her face up and placed a chaste kiss on his cheek, oblivious to the tiny gasp of astonishment that escaped him.

"I've already told you, but I can do it again: I have no intention of ever leaving you." She declared seriously. "No matter what may come. So don't you cry, big brother."

The spot where her lips had touched him tingled, but, somehow, amidst the shame and incomprehension, Russia's brain finally processed that his worst fear had miraculously failed to come true. The next few moments were but a blur to him as he temporarily gave in to the gush of relief that flooded him, holding onto her like a drowning man to a lifeline.

It wasn't long, however, before the seeds of doubt settled in Russia's mind, sprouting until he could no longer refrain from asking the question that burned the tip of his tongue.

"Then you've… really forgiven me?"

"Forgiven you? Whatever for?"

At first, Russia was simply unable to figure out the meaning of that answer. Then, faced with Belarus's inscrutable expression, a cold apprehension wormed its way into the pit of his stomach.

"You remember about last night, Belarus, don't you?" He inquired emotionlessly and his heart was hammering against his ribcage, so fast that he felt almost sick.

She nodded and, when she spoke, the ghost of a smile played at the corner of her injured mouth for a split second, before it turned into a wince of pain.

"How could I ever forget when we finally made love? Does that mean we'll get married soon now? Please, let's get married!"

Instantaneously, the strange feeling erupted into full-blown panic and every muscle in Russia's body automatically tensed, as if begging him to flee as far away from Belarus as possible. She was doing it again! She was doing it again and Russia hadn't by any means anticipated the outbreak. He could hardly believe his ears and, as he forced himself to breathe deeply, the same interrogation spun around and around in his head – how? How was such a thing even possible? How could she possibly want…?

Then, something inside of Russia unexpectedly snapped – his protest died in his throat at the exact same time as the answer naturally dawned upon him. The terrible sense of dread slowly receded into the back of his mind, leaving nothing in its stead but unfathomable emptiness.

Russia stared deep into the blue of his sister's eyes, but he never managed to get past the initial layer of her steely determination.

"What do you even know about love, Natalya?" He asked and when she made to reply, he gently shushed her.

"Don't… Just let me show you."

Belarus was momentarily speechless and he took advantage of the opportunity to slip an arm under her knees and effortlessly lift her off the bed. She seemed perplexed but automatically clung on to him as he carried her out of the room like a groom would a bride.

Belarus remained silent as they entered the bathroom and didn't say a word when he helped her into the bath he had run for her. She merely looked at him as he carefully wiped the blood and semen from her frail body, while desperately wishing he could erase so much more than that. Every now and then she flinched as the wet cloth came into contact with a patch of raw skin, and Russia dared to kiss her furrowed brow, whisper her words of encouragement. Belarus never took her eyes off him, even as he helped her out of the tub and began to dry her. He dabbed at her cheeks delicately, but when the towel slid from her face, he saw that she was crying.

"Even love hurts, big brother…" Belarus said defeatedly, and Russia's heart bled for her.


End file.
